


Rodeo Road

by LadyElizabeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward, Barrel racing, Cowboy Sandor, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Cowgirl Sansa, F/M, Fluff, Horses, Modern America, Rode Life, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, rodeo, sansan, slowish burn, team roping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyElizabeth/pseuds/LadyElizabeth
Summary: After having sworn off men and dating, Sansa has dedicated all focus on her career as a barrel racer on the PRCA circuit. But lately, that tall, mysterious team roper with the scarred face has been catching her eye.It's the ropes and reins, joy and pain, and they call the thing rodeo.
Relationships: Bronn/Margaery Tyrell, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 27
Kudos: 66





	Rodeo Road

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rolling around in my mind for months and months, and now that I am finally done with my master's degree, and have some free time on my hands, I figured I would indulge myself in my favorite guilty pleasure of writing these stories and get this one on paper (figuratively, of course)! If there's one thing I like more than Game of Thrones, it's rodeo and all things that go with it! I grew up in the world of rodeo and horse shows, and have continued the lifestyle in my adult years. I have been wanting to write a SanSan romance story connected to the rodeo world for some time now. Please drop a comment and let me know what you think! Happy reading!

_“Cowgirls don't cry, ride, baby, ride  
Lessons in life are gonna show you in time  
Soon enough you gonna know why  
It's gonna hurt every now and then  
If you fall get back on again  
Cowgirls don't cry.”_

Brooks & Dunn, Reba McEntire

The last of the sun’s rays were about to give way to darkness, but there was still enough illumination from the lights that hung from her horse trailer for Sansa to see the words in her favorite book _She’s Come Undone_. Not that she could really concentrate on the pages. She almost felt sorry for the poor soul inside the trailer that Margaery was ranting and raving at. _Almost._ Had she not known who was inside the trailer with her friend, she might have felt pity for him. But she knew exactly who was in the trailer, and she knew that he was getting exactly what he deserved. The door to the living quarters of Sansa's four horse Bloomer horse trailer swung open with such an impressive amount of force, Sansa thought for sure it would fly off its hinges. Angry shouts from within drifted out into the hot, sticky air of the early summer Arkansas evening. She had been listening to the argument for several minutes, but until the door opened, it had just been a muffled commotion.

_"Come on, Margie...it was just a joke!"_

An expensive looking pair of men's Lucchesse boots came flying through the doorway and landed on the ground just a few feet from where Sansa was perched in a canvas fold out chair. From where she was sitting, Sansa saw her mare’s head snap up and glance in the direction of the boots. Lady’s ears swiveled back and forth, suddenly alerted by the flying objects. _I told her. I fucking told her._ Sansa tipped her can of her beer towards her lips and couldn't help but smirk as she sipped the cold beer down.

_"Like hell it was just a joke...Ros showed me the texts this morning! Ugh…you disgust me! Get the fuck out!”_

_“Make me.”_

A few seconds later, Joffrey Baratheon followed his boots as he came crashing onto the ground just outside Sansa’s trailer. He landed with a hard _thud_ on his shoulder and immediately screamed back up at Margaery. “You stupid bitch!”

Like a frisbee flying through the air, Joffrey’s perfectly creased cowboy hat hit the ground next to him as well. With as much dignity as he could muster, Joffrey pushed himself into a standing position and began to brush himself off. His crisp white button up shirt was now smeared with grass and dirt stains from where his body had skipped like a rock on water across the ground. Hiding her curling lips behind her fist, Sansa stifled a laugh and pretended to look the other way.

“What the fuck are _you_ looking at?!” Joffrey snapped before he grabbed his hat off the ground and slammed it down onto his head. Maintaining an innocent disposition, Sansa held a hand up as she shrugged her shoulders. Without bothering to stop to put his boots back on, he just snatched them up off the ground and stomped away.

A flustered Margaery stepped out of the trailer and slammed the door shut. Muttering an incoherent string of curses under her breath, she threw open the lid of the Yeti cooler that sat between the two canvas chairs, one of which was occupied by Sansa.

"Don't say it." Margaery snapped as she lifted a cold Coors out of the cooler and shook the ice from the yellow can.

Still smirking, Sansa watched her best friend collapse into the chair on the other side of her cooler. With her beer clutched between her knees, Sansa held her hands up as if to admit defeat. "Wasn't gonna..."

Margaery cracked the top of her beer, tore the tab off and threw it into a discarded feed bucket which had been steadily filling up with empty beer cans and other debris. "Don't you fucking say it."

Sansa couldn’t stand it anymore. Her lips sputtered and vibrated with the laughter she had been attempting to hold in ever since she had seen Joffrey come flying through the doorway. With one hand, she covered her mouth and glanced at Margaery, who was beginning to succumb to laughter herself. 

After a lengthy pull from her beer, Margaery let her head hang back, her long chestnut waves almost touching the grass behind her. Laughter dissolved the pout on Margaery’s face. “ _Fine..._ go ahead and say it, you know you want to!”

“ _I told you so!_ Damn, Margaery...I told you he was an asshole! Right from the beginning, I told you.” A three year long courtship with Joffrey that had spanned the last two years of Sansa’s high school rodeo seasons and the first year of her college rodeo career had left Sansa with a severely bitter taste in her mouth towards the arrogant blonde calf roper. When he had shown interest in Margaery three weeks ago at a PRCA rodeo in Boise, Idaho, Sansa had earnestly tried to warn her friend that Joffrey Baratheon was nothing but trouble. A snake in the grass, waiting to make lives miserable. Margaery hadn’t heeded her friend’s advice, insisting that surely he had changed his ways and had grown up a little since his relationship with Sansa. “So, what happened?”

Heaving a sigh, Margaery took another gulp of her beer. “Oh, you know...he was just trying to get me to agree to a threesome with that skank Ros.”

Needless to say, Margaery’s explanation of Joffrey’s behavior had not shocked Sansa in the least. Antics like those and worse were just one of the reasons why Sansa had broken up with Joffrey right before the college rodeo finals back in 2011. But she humored her friend anyway and gaped at her. “ _Shut up!”_

Margaery shook her head. “I will not...Ros showed me the texts from him this morning during the slack. Told her that his birthday was coming up and there was nothing he would love more than to have me sitting on his face while Ros sat on his cock.”

“Yikes.” That definitely sounded like something Joffrey would do. From what Sansa could tell he had not grown up or changed in the least. Sansa couldn’t help but tease her friend a little. “Would you have said yes if he had wanted it the other way around? Like if Ros was sitting on his face and you were...” A glare from Margaery cut her joke off. Sansa smiled and reached out to take Margaery’s hand. “I’m sorry, girl. I couldn’t help myself.”

Margaery heaved a sigh. “Well, you were right about him. I should have listened. He sure knows how to make a woman feel like they’re shit.” If the look on Margaery’s face gave away how she was feeling, Sansa could tell she was feeling very dejected. When Sansa felt the squeeze of Margaery’s hand around her own, she looked up at her and smiled.

“Marg, forget about Joffrey. You are a catch. Any man would be lucky to have you, and that jackass didn’t deserve you from the beginning.”

After Margaery drained the last of her beer into her mouth, she tossed the empty can into the bucket. “I’m just exhausted, you know? Tired of the games. Tired of the bullshit and the drama. I mean, just when I think a guy really likes me, he turns out to be a creep. Or mentally unstable. Or he doesn’t want anything serious.” Margaery expelled a breath and folded her arms in front of her chest and leaned her elbows on her knees. A telltale sniffle of the tears brimming in her eyes could be heard.

“Oh Margie, don’t cry...”

Wiping her eye with the cuff of her sleeve, Margaery looked up. “Aren’t you tired of it all? Don’t you want to be in a serious relationship and settle down? Be with a man that loves you?”

It took Sansa a minute to respond. She balked at the question and widened her eyes. Settling down on the rodeo road was something that was not very easily accomplished. She was gone nearly half the weeks of the year on the road, which didn’t leave very much time to foster a decent relationship. Dating men who were also on the road for the same purpose was difficult as well. Attached, but cheating rodeo men were a dime a dozen, and the men who stayed single...well, Sansa and Margaery had discovered that there was usually a reason why they were single. Sansa _was_ tired of it. Whenever she tried to play it safe and keep her intentions to herself so she wouldn’t get hurt, she would be accused of playing games. If she had been forward and upfront with her feelings, she would get accused of being clingy and too fast. Margaery had hit the nail on the head. Dating was exhausting. “Of course I want to settle down. But I don’t want to settle for just anyone.” Pausing to collect her thoughts, Sansa leaned forward in her chair and rested her forearms on her knees. “I’m tired of it too, girl. You’re not alone.” She sat up and turned to her friend. “One day, we will meet men who are tired of the games too. Someone who will put as much effort into the relationship as we do, and things will be _great.”_

Margaery smiled at Sansa before pushing herself up out of her chair. “You’re the best, you know that? I’ll be back in a bit, I still need to go pick up my check from the office. You want me to take Lady back to her stall while I’m over there?”

“Yea, that would be great. Thanks girl.” Sansa tossed her book on top of the cooler and retrieved her phone from her back pocket. There was a text from her dad asking how she had done that night.

**Daddy: Hey princess, how did things go tonight?**

**Sansa: Not bad, I got a check for second place. Margaery got first. I lost a few seconds because Lady came off the third barrel a little wide.**

**Daddy: Well just make sure you’re picking your reins up and using your inside leg to keep her shoulders engaged around the turn so she doesn’t fall out like that.**

Reading her father’s text made her grin. Even though he was a team roping man, he knew horses and he knew how to train them. He always preached to anyone who would listen that ‘ _good horsemanship is good horsemanship_ ,’ no matter if it was team roping, barrel racing, dressage, reining, or jumping.

**Sansa: Yes sir. How’s mama and everyone?**

**Daddy: Everyone is good. Rickon is finally home for the summer. I think Arya is starting to realize that dropping out of college was a bad idea, as hard as I’m working her now.**

Sansa’s lips involuntarily curled into another smile at the mention of her little sister’s name. Arya had recently blown her rodeo scholarship at McNeese in south Louisiana by partying way too much. The last straw was when she had gotten in trouble by the rodeo coach for posting a post-rodeo party picture on her Instagram with the caption ‘ _Our drinking team has a rodeo problem.’_ Back home on the Stark Ranch, Arya had been put to work by their dad riding colts and client horses that their dad currently had in their barn. Even though Arya was sullen and bitter about being back home, working for their father, she had a gift when it came to riding young horses. A gift that Sansa wished she had. Arya was fearless in that perspective. She was also persistent and patient, another good set of qualities that lent themselves to breaking and starting colts and fillies. In a hard blow that really hit home with Arya, their parents had sent her barrel horse, Nymeria out on the road with Sansa for her to use as her back-up horse. Even though Arya had been irate at the situation, and had even lashed out at Sansa in response, Sansa had insisted relentlessly to her sister that she had nothing to do with their parents’ decision. Things just hadn’t been the same with Arya since Sansa had left four weeks ago.

**Sansa: Well I hope she knows I’m taking good care of Nymeria.**

**Daddy: I’m sure you are, and I’m sure she knows. Where are y’all heading next?**

**Sansa: Hugo, Oklahoma.**

**Daddy: Ok well call us sometime tomorrow, while Margaery is driving, of course.**

**Sansa: lol of course. Love y’all so much.**

**Daddy: We love you too. And we’re so proud of you.**

Having grown up on one of the largest ranches in central Texas, Sansa had loved and lived the rodeo life for as long as she could remember. Like her mother before her, Sansa had grown up being an extremely competitive barrel racer, competing successfully at junior rodeos, then high school and college rodeo. A six-time NFR qualifier and two-time world champion header in the team roping, her father made a living breeding and training some of the finest roping horses in the business and conducted team roping clinics for ropers of all levels. It was a very lucrative business and Sansa and her siblings lived a charmed life. She wouldn’t consider herself spoiled but blessed, rather. She had worked tirelessly for her rodeo scholarship to Tarleton State University, where she had majored in Agribusiness. That was where she had met Margaery Tyrell, a fellow barrel racer from Oklahoma. During their years together on the Tarleton State rodeo team, they had solidified a friendship that Sansa cherished. After capping off her senior year of college by winning the high point barrel racing title, Sansa had entered the professional rodeo world, making a living traveling and competing on the PRCA circuit. Even though she lived many months out of the year on the road, living out of her horse trailer, she technically still lived at home. She spent the off season living on Stark Ranch in the apartment above the large barn that housed her family’s personal and client horses. While at home, she put her degree to use helping her family maintain the operations of the ranch.

“Girl, I am worn out!” Sansa heard Margaery exclaim as she approached her from behind.

Sansa grinned up at her friend. “Lemme see that new hardware!” Returning Sansa’s wide smile, Margaery tossed her new buckle into her lap. As she ran her fingers across the beautifully swirled filigreed patterns, Sansa let out a low whistle. “Bob Berg. Nice!” Still smiling, and truly happy for her, Sansa held the trophy buckle back up to her friend. “Congratulations, Marg.” No hard feelings were ever harbored between the two girls when one won and the other didn’t. They supported each other fiercely, no matter what, and their parents had raised them to exhibit and believe in good sportsmanship. In the world of competitive sports, there are those who win, and there are those who do not win. _And that’s just the way the world works,_ Sansa’s father had told her many, many years ago. 

“Thanks girl.” Margaery leaned down and grasped Sansa’s cheeks before kissing her on the forehead. “I’m fixin to go grab a shower and go to bed.” Margaery paused before hoisting herself up into the trailer. “Hey what time do you want to leave in the morning?”

Considering her question, Sansa shrugged. “Shoot, I dunno. About nine or so? That way we can go ahead and get there, get the horses settled and then have the next day or two to relax.”

“Sounds great. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Marg.”

Elsewhere on the rodeo grounds, Sandor carried his trophy buckle and his first place check back to Bronn’s trailer. The Old Fort Days Rodeo in Fort Smith, Arkansas had yielded another few thousand dollar check that he split with his partner. His team roping partner, Bronn Blackwater had once again shown the world why he was rated a number seven elite heeler. Sandor himself was considered number eight header, a feat which he was humbly proud of. He had worked his ass off for his higher than average rating in his years in college and professional rodeo. It was something he had earned himself and no one else could take it away from him.

Once inside Bronn’s trailer, Sandor fleetingly examined the trophy buckle he had just won. He briefly ran his thumb over the raised pattern of metalwork and the words that made up the name of the rodeo before tossing it into his duffle bag. It landed with a _clank_ amongst the other buckles he had accumulated in his most recent stint on the road with Bronn. Trophy buckles meant very little to him. Very rarely did he change out the one that he wore on his belt. The pomp and circumstance of the awards that were presented to him were mere trinkets and a considerable waste of money in his opinion. At one point, during his initial years of junior rodeo, he had been elated and proud when he won a buckle. Once he had the buckle and check in his hand, he would present them to his father, in hopes that they would distract the man from the weight of the problems being caused by his older brother. His mind a thousand miles away, he would absentmindedly smile down at Sandor and pat him on the back. ‘ _Good job. Keep it up, Sand-Man,’_ his father would say. Much to their father’s dismay, Gregor had shown absolutely no interest in the rodeo world and had instead gotten mixed up with drugs and the lifestyle that went with them. While Sandor was a freshman in high school, his father had dropped Gregor off one day at an army recruitment office, hoping that the army would straighten him out.

 _Boy had he been wrong,_ Sandor thought as he reflected on his father’s decision. He was jerked out of his contemplations by the sound of Bronn closing the trailer door. He heard his footsteps across the floor and felt his friend’s hand clap him on the back.

“Man...twenty-three hundred dollars each is what I consider a weekend well spent! There are a lot of poor bastards out there who don’t get to make that in a month.”

While he listened to Bronn stroke their egos, Sandor pulled out his billfold and tucked the check into his wallet. He had known Bronn since grade school and had grown up roping with him. Sandor considered him his best friend, even if he didn’t carry himself in the same humble fashion that Sandor did. “Should cover us for the next week or two if we don’t pull a check in Hugo.” The next rodeo Sandor and Bronn had planned to enter was in three days in Hugo, Oklahoma. It was only about a three hour drive to their destination, so they would have plenty of time to rest and recuperate themselves and their horses over the next few days.

Bronn nodded in agreement as he hung his hat on a hook next to the door and began to unbutton his shirt. “What time do you wanna head out tomorrow?”

With a grunt, Sandor shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m in absolutely no rush. We could take it easy tomorrow morning and head out around lunch time or so.”

“Works for me. I’m gonna get a shower and hit the hay.”

Sandor snickered at his response. “No plans to make purple with the ladies tonight?” His friend was well liked by the women on the rodeo circuit and usually had no problem finding night time entertainment.

“Nope. Not tonight, my friend. I’m beat.” Bronn had stripped down to his boxers and was standing in the doorway that led to his trailer’s bathroom. “We’ll see how our luck plays out in Hugo, though.” With a wink, Bronn slid the door closed and a few seconds later, Sandor heard the water falling in the shower.

 _Our luck…hah._ Sandor retrieved his pack of cigarettes from the counter and stepped out into the warm night air. After pausing outside the trailer to light a cigarette, Sandor began the short walk to the barn to check on their horses. Luck with women was an unfamiliar concept to Sandor. Sandor knew good and damn well that no woman truly wanted to gaze upon his hideously scared face. Every now and then, he would have a woman show short-lived interest in him, usually a less attractive friend of whatever woman Bronn was trying to woo. If anything came from these encounters, it was a drunken one night stand. Relationships were out of the question and Sandor had made peace with the fact that he would probably end up alone. The infrequent hook-ups were unsatisfying to him anyway, having pounded out an empty release and sent the women on their way, which they had no problem doing. Before entering the barn, Sandor finished his cigarette and tossed the butt into a nearby barrel so he wouldn’t catch hell from the security guard about smoking in the barn. Bronn’s bay gelding, Ace was stalled next to Sandor’s horse Stranger. Stranger was a big, solid black gelding who was starting to get some age on him. He had been Sandor’s roping horse through his later college years and had been the envy of every header in his region. It worried Sandor that he would be faced with the task of replacing Stranger in the next few years. In an attempt to keep his horse going, he kept him legged up and in top shape and supplemented his feed with joint and digestive additives. But father time made exceptions for no one.

“Hey, old friend,” Sandor rasped as he swung the stall door open. Stranger’s ears pricked forward at the sound of Sandor’s voice and he turned his head to face him. Sandor tucked Stranger’s head under his arm and rubbed him along the underside of his neck, just how he knew the horse liked. “You did good tonight, buddy. Real good.” As Sandor leaned against the wall of his horse’s stall, he could see a figure coming down the barn aisle. He assumed it was another contestant coming to check on their horses for the night and turned his attention back to Stranger. It wasn’t until he heard the stall door directly across the aisle open that Sandor looked up over the door.

 _“Hey Lady,”_ Sandor heard a woman’s voice softly coo from across the aisle. Without even having to really look at the woman, he knew immediately who she was. It was kind of difficult not to notice the pretty red head on the grey horse that had been making a huge splash on the professional rodeo circuit for the past few years. Sandor knew of Sansa Stark’s family and the massive ranch they owned outside of Stephenville, Texas. The thought never even crossed his mind to introduce himself to her and he sure as hell wasn’t going to act on that tonight. To Sandor, Sansa Stark was one of those stuck-up, spoiled barrel racers who came from wealth and privilege, who used daddy’s money, truck and trailer her haul her fancy horses from rodeo to rodeo, and he had filed her away in his mind as such. But that didn’t stop him from wondering what type of music she listened to on her early morning runs around the rodeo grounds, or what her fiery red hair smelled like, or what she looked like in the mornings as she stretched her long legs from underneath her bed sheets. Yes, Sandor had spent time watching and wondering about her. But the thoughts were fleeting, and Sandor usually pushed them out of his mind as quickly as they entered. Tonight though, Sandor couldn’t help but notice how Sansa spoke to her mare the same way that he talked to Stranger.

_“You did so good tonight, girl. I’m so proud of you. We’ll get em in Hugo.”_

At the mention of Hugo, Sandor realized they were both heading to the same rodeo. Turning his body slightly, he stole a quick glance at Sansa. Her long hair was woven into a thick braid and was slung over her left shoulder. She had exchanged her cowboy hat for a Cinch ball cap. _One of her sponsors no doubt,_ Sandor mussed to himself as he worked his fingers through Stranger’s long forelock. Since her appearance on the pro rode scene a few years ago, he had noticed that Sansa had managed to snag the support from some of the larger PRCA sponsors; Justin Boots and Ram Trucks were among the patches that she wore on her rodeo shirts. A Coors Banquet Beer sticker was plastered on the side of her horse trailer as well.

The soft scrape of metal against metal told Sandor that the stall door across the aisle had been shut. Stealing another glance across the alley, Sandor saw Sansa disappear into the neighboring stall to check on another horse, only to reappear a minute later. Not wanting to be caught staring, Sandor jerked his chin back down, pretending to be focused on his horse. He tilted his head, so the brim of his cowboy hat hid most of his face. When he didn’t hear footsteps retreating down the barn aisle right away, Sandor dared himself to look up. Just feet away from where he was leaned up against the wall next to his horse, Sansa stood facing in his direction. Makeup and what girls did to enhance their natural beauty was not something that Sandor knew a whole lot about, but he knew that whatever Sansa did to her face looked very nice. He liked how natural she looked. Not made up with layer after layer of who knows what in all those unnatural colors that girls often wore. Sandor’s breath hitched in his throat when Sansa opened her mouth to speak.

“Congratulations on y’all’s win tonight.”

Bewildered that Sansa would even speak to him, let alone the fact that she knew it was him that had won the team roping that night, Sandor cleared his throat and scrambled for a response. “Ah, uh…yeah thanks.” In an ideal world, that point in time would have been the perfect opportunity for Sandor to step out of the safety of the stall, formally introduce himself, and offer to walk her back to her trailer. But Sandor remained fixed in place against the wall, eyes unable to leave her form. Since the light in the barn was dim, Sandor couldn’t make out the inscription on her belt buckle. He doubted he would ever get close enough to that part of her to be able to get a good look at it anyway. There were so many things about her that he wanted to find out. Like why she preferred to wear the classic cowboy cut Wrangler jeans instead of the trendier brands all of the other rodeo girls wore those days. Or what book she had been reading in the arena bleachers earlier that day. With her thumbs hooked into the back pockets of her jeans, Sansa looked down and absentmindedly kicked at a rock that had made its way into the aisle. The soft sound of her spur rowels jingling as she scuffed her boot along the dirt where she stood, mixed with crickets and frogs singing in the pond beyond the rodeo grounds were the only sounds that could be heard. Sandor couldn’t quite make sense of the look on her face.

After what seemed to be several minutes to Sandor but was probably only a mere fraction of that time, Sansa spoke. “Well, have a good night I guess.” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and strode quickly down the alleyway and back out into the night.

“Yeah, you too,” Sandor finally managed to force the words from his mouth once Sansa was surely well out of earshot. Mumbling sarcastically to himself, Sandor gave Stranger one final pat and emerged from the stall. “Way to go, Clegane. That was really impressive.” He checked the water buckets in Stranger’s and Ace’s stalls before heading back to the trailer to turn in for the night. On the way back to the trailer, Sandor couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she had known that he had won. _If anything,_ he thought bitterly, _she was paying attention to the fact that Bronn won, and just happened to realize I was his partner._ Women didn’t fawn over Sandor the way they did Bronn. Sandor could throw a textbook perfect head loop after one swing out of the box without even breaking the barrier and wouldn’t catch a second glace from a woman. Whereas Bronn could miss his heel shot completely, ruining the team’s chances for a check, but would still manage to be _ooohed_ and _aaahed_ over by members of the opposite sex. Back at Bronn’s trailer, Sandor kicked an empty bucket over on its top end and lowered himself to sit on it. Behind the glow of the day’s last cigarette, and amongst the gentle hum of generators all around him, Sandor wondered where Sansa had parked her trailer. He exhaled smoke out into the night and quickly abandoned the thought. _Doesn’t matter anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> Since I’m not sure what all y’all do or do not know about the rodeo world, I am going to include a “Rodeo Glossary” at the end of each chapter to help!
> 
> Living Quarters Horse Trailer: A large horse trailer with basically a small apartment in the front part of the trailer. They can get super fancy and extremely expensive. These trailers are often used when people travel from rodeo to rodeo, so they won’t have to constantly pay for hotels. 
> 
> PRCA: Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association. 
> 
> Slack: The time other than the actual rodeo performance when the “extra” contestants compete in the rodeo. If all contestants competed in the performance (when all the rodeo spectators come to watch), it would be hours and hours long, so rodeos usually divide the contestants up into ones who will compete in the performance and ones who will compete in the slack. Slack is usually the morning of or the morning after the performance. Slack and performance times are counted together. 
> 
> NFR: The National Finals Rodeo, held every December in Las Vegas, is the event which crowns the world champions in the rodeo world. 
> 
> Team Roping: A timed event which consists of a header and a heeler. The team starts out in a chute with the roping steer between them. After the steer in released, the header ropes the steer around the horns or head and pulls him to the left so the heeler can rope the steer’s heels. Time ends when both ropes are pulled tight and the steer is stopped.


End file.
